The Art of Self-Defense and Seduction
by Gothika Faerie
Summary: In the middle of the night, two stitch punks enjoy some physical and verbal sparring. 1/7


Title: The Art of Self-Defense…and Seduction

Summary: When 1 awoke to inspect the mysterious noises coming from the remains of the cathedral in the middle of the night, the beauteous sight he had the pleasure he had to witness was not what he had expected. Still, he could not complain about it given how it yielded such wondrous results.

Genre: Romance/Humor

Rated: T for suggestive content

A/N: I recently hopped onto the 9 bandwagon and let me tell you right now, 1 and 7 are the ultimate OTP! You have your biting tension, your strong personalities trying to one up each other and most importantly, this is a May-December pairing and I am so all over that! I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

1 absolutely hated being disturbed when he was sailing the calm seas of slumber. When sleep, the essence of security and peace was interfered with, it clearly meant that there was a breach in this perfect castle that he had erected for those he must protect. The cathedral was supposed to promise unwavering sanctuary and if it failed now, 1 knew he needed to act quickly. Throwing off the makeshift blankets 2 had knitted together out of scraps of grimy human clothes, he seized his staff and hat that he always kept right at his bedside before throwing on his cape.

Of course he knew that these adornments were not going to be of any practical use for physical confrontation but right now, it was appropriate that he actually venture out and discover the source of that dratted clanging and thudding. This was quite new for him. Normally, he would have sent 8 out to investigate, much to the corpulent guard's displeasure at needing to compromise his own tranquil foray into dreamland. However, something niggled at 1 tonight. It was like an irritating mite that found its little way under his stitches and made him squirm from the discomfort. These noises have been occurring for quite a while now but they had been so quiet, he did not really give it much thought and dismissed them as the others scuffling around for some reason or other. Tonight though, they were especially audible and thus, here he was dressed to look like the assumed powerful dictator he was. He hoped at least whomever was intruding was no beast but a rogue stitch punk who would hopefully cower under his grandiose and respectable appearance.

His bedroom was the at the very top, mostly because he actually felt comforted at being able to see through the transparent clock face down at the fallen kingdom below. It bode well for them all if they could keep a close eye of the happenings beneath them. They served, as reminders of the hazards of the foreboding emptiness that awaited any fool whom dared believed they would survive them. He paused momentarily in front of the massive glass surface and let out a deep sigh.

 _She's probably still out there, that foolish girl. It would be positively miraculous if she were still alive…_

1 immediately clenched his eyes tight and shook his head profusely, almost as to shake off those dreadful thoughts. It was time to focus on the mission at hand and not on a ridiculously stubborn female that could never listen to plain sensible reason. He strode towards the crude elevator structure 2 and 5 had collaborated over and lowered himself down. Going at a slow and steady pace was most prudent at this moment. He could not risk plummeting down at full speed. The elevator would strike the hard stone ground and echo throughout the cathedral. 1 shuddered at the fearsome image of an unscrupulous intruder planning to end the source of such an unnerving sound.

As he descended through the floors, the reverberations of metal striking concrete rang louder in his ears. His optics narrowed as his grip tightened on his staff. There was a fair chance that the supposed uninvited guest was well armed. Well, 1 would give him what for. Though he may not look it and was not one to actively participate in physical combat, when the time desperately called for it, 1 could be quite the opponent on the battlefield. Unbeknownst to his fellow stitch punks-even 2 did not discover this-1 would train silently with his staff by himself in his bedroom before the sun rose every morning. He relied solely on instincts to internalize various stances, blocks and offenses. There was certainly nothing criminal about educating oneself on the importance of self-defense even when one had a burly henchman to do the dirty work. At least he would get the satisfaction of shocking everyone with his secret skills if the occasion ever called for it; i.e. if 8 was ever left eating his own dust.

Upon reaching his destination, the ground floor, 1 tiptoed across the stone tiles, avoiding the rubble that would be crushed underfoot. With every step, he was shortening the distance between him and that infernal racket. Through the stained glass rendition of the Holy Mother that the humans consistently worshipped and prayed to during those catastrophic war events, the moon shone, illuminating an equally celestial sight. The self-appointed leader stopped dead in his mincing steps, his mouth open and his optics concentrated on the lone figure. Why, it could have almost been mistaken for a sprightly fairy if one believed that sort of tomfoolery. The movements were nimble, swift and dusted with such elegant grace, it left 1 completely spellbound.

That is until the ear-splitting sound of a metal blade cracking against the broken concrete snapped him out of his reverie. He blinked rapidly to dispel the mesmerized state he was in and slowly approached the stitch punk who was twirling and leaping through the air, an impressive spear gripped tightly in her dainty hands. With every dive to the ground, she would strike the ground with great force as though she was dealing great damage to a formidable foe. 1 could barely repress the smile that was crossing his face. She seemed far too absorbed in her solo training session to notice that he was present in the room. Moreover, those dreadful sounds she was emitting with that confounded spear masked any trace of his footsteps. It was not long till he was directly behind her as she was panting heavily, resting up after having decided to leave a dent in the cathedral floor.

"That was quite impressive, dear girl," With a gasp of someone completely caught off guard, she whirled around, ready to impale this sneaky bastard in the head with her long handled blade. She would have succeeded if her companion at the moment had not stopped her attack just in time with his own makeshift weapon.

"Ah, be careful, young lady. You would have done us both a severe injury," 7 scowled, wrenching her spear away from his block though noting how surprisingly skillful it was. Taking on a quick offensive stance, she targeted him with the sharp end of her stick. 1, however, just stood there, chuckling at how perturbed she was that someone had discovered her little secret training ground. The lone female defender turned away huffily, adjusting her skull helmet over her face, not wanting _him_ of all people to see how affected she was by his sudden presence.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT. Why of all of them, he needed to be the one that found me out?_

"Nice block," She remarked, hoping to lighten the tension and deter he barrage of questions 1 was definitely prepared to pose to her. In all fairness though, it really _was_ a decent block. It was very unexpected of the tyrant before her whom was always droning on over leading a passive hermit's life and the dangers of confronting an enemy head on. "Where did you learn that?"

1 raised an eye ridge at her swift selection of topic and decided the heated interrogation could wait. She had not changed a bit since he last saw her. Her fabric was still as snowy white as possible. It was no wonder the moon seemed to make her glow as she stood beneath it. He puzzled though over the fact of why she would ever want to cover that beautiful face with that hideous raven's skull.

 _Then again, it makes her look like a warrior princess. An Amazon almost._

"You're not the only one who knows a few tricks, 7. I have my own cards in my deck. It's just that you've never had the privilege of seeing them…until now," This caught her attention and she finally lifted her still burning face up to look at him. If this implication meant what she thought it meant, it was certainly the greatest news of the century. "Are you posing a challenge, old man? I wouldn't want you to break a rusted hip joint. 2 would have a hard time replacing that."

Her comment received just the reaction she had hoped for. 1's optics diminished into dangerous dots and his once self-satisfied smile dissipated into a glower. She needed to keep up this verbal spar. It was the only way she could feel like she finally had the upper hand on this pompous, uppity tyrant…who apparently had the potential to take her down if he applied himself to the cause. In return for her insolent words, that was exactly what he was going to do. She observed with the greatest wonderment and interest as he poised himself into a stance that clearly showed he meant business.

"You'll find yourself eating your words in due time, my dear girl," The curved, jagged end of his scepter was aimed right for her. 7's lips quirked up into an anticipatory smirk and she poised herself in the exact same stance.

"Challenge accepted…old man."

 _Oh, she will learn. She will learn right now not to underestimate me._

The tension hung in the air so thick; it could have been sliced clean through. Dust motes circled the two stitch punks staring each other down. As always, 7 took the initiative. With a yipping battle cry, she broke into a quick sprint, the tip of her spear designed to easily rip a hole in 1's fabric or even worse, his precious cape. The older stitch punk did not move a muscle. The blade was inching closer with every lope his young, pretty opponent made.

 _Wait for it…_

The moment when she was liable to pierce him right between his optics, he struck her staff upwards with his, keeping it trapped in the curve of its mouth and with lightning reflexes swung it up high. Given 7's vise like grip on her prized weapon, she went flying with it and found herself on the ground; a mass of deeply discombobulated fabric and metal. 1 approached her, unable to hold back his gloating laughter.

"Now, now, 7, I thought you of all people would know that in sparring, timing is everything. You must wait till the very end of your opponent's attack. It gives you time to take in all their various open targets and weak spots. So you see, at times, my philosophy on passivity does work. It can yield such stunning results."

7 snarled up at him, scrambling to her feet, seizing her weapon with even greater determination than before. She was going to have this old geezer pumped with hot air on the floor even if it would potentially kill her. Charging at him a second time, she feinted at the last moment, dropping the blade down low, hoping this would trip him up. Again, 1 seemed to be one step ahead of her like before. He quickly stepped back from her running position, knowing she was going far too fast to stop and caught her leg in the gear portion of his staff, causing _her_ to trip up. 7 could barely contain her boiling anger, especially when that incorrigible twat had the gall to offer his hand to help her up to her feet. All he got in the end was the cold shoulder and muttered words that would have peeled paint off the already decaying walls.

"Shush, language, dear girl. What if 6 heard us?" 7 merely growled a response and 1 could barely contain the delicious feeling of satisfaction coursing through his veins. He cleared his throat before stating, his voice dripping with insurmountable pride. "As you can see, 7, this "old man" knows what he's doing. In fact, he knows far more than you give him credit for."

7 had been facing away from him during this little monologue. Her digits curled themselves taut around her spear. Her jaw was set. Turning swiftly, she lunged for him. Metal instantly collided against metal. This time, 1 pinned her spear down with his staff. Hurryingly seizing the opportunity, he leaned in close and whispered. "Ah, the classic surprise attack. Can be successful but it is also very, very risky. Again, it is all in the timing."

This was all getting to be too much for the overtaxed female ragdoll. Letting out a savage grunt, she gathered up all the strength in her drained body to break free of her opponent's defensive move. The shining blade swung up, now free and came down, slicing through the air, whipping up the wind into audible gusts. 1 met all her jabs and overhead lunges with countering blocks, pushing her back into her side of the court. When she thrust, he parried. When she leapt, he swung up. When she twirled, he blocked her way of escape. It could have almost come across as some sort of hypnotic dance to anyone having the pleasure to witness such a performance filled with such tension and the burgeoning desire to win.

Inevitably, both the stitch punks had their staffs pressing against each other, attempting to shove the other down onto the ground. Optics met as their breath came out in heavy pants. The exertion was apparent in both the duelists but neither wanted to back down. It just was not in their nature. Regardless of how much they loathed and were often irritated by the other, they could not deny their fiery similarities and the electricity practically sparking in the air when they were both in the same room.

"Give up, 7. I've already had you on the floor twice," 1 decided to politely ignore the innuendo in his words. The female stitch punk though found herself a little scandalized at the implication. She narrowed her eyes and stepped forth, her fingers growing numb at how much effort she was putting into pushing him down. Their leader was not as frail as he looked; why, she was also getting tired in their little battle.

"Never. I will never let you have the satisfaction of winning." 1 did not speak but slowly allowed a bedeviling smile to cross his stitched face and 7 tried to ignore the chill that ran down her spine at the sight of it. Without warning, he yanked away his staff from their near equilibrium position, catching her off guard and definitely off balance. However, before she could hit the floor a third time, he tenderly trapped her by the waist with the hook of his scepter. With another firm tug, he had her within far too close to be deemed appropriate proximity with his body.

7 was mortified to say the least. Beneath her skull headpiece, she was burning up far beyond her initial embarrassment at being caught and taught a few new things in combat. Her instincts were telling her to slap the obnoxious elder before her or at the very least knee him and run and never look back. It seemed though her heart was immobilizing her. The feeling of 1's fabric against hers was leaving her stunned and, very ironic for the plucky stitch punk, helpless. Her captor knew this and was relishing every moment of it. With a gentle flip of his hand, he had her skull helmet off in a flourish. His voice rumbled out a resonant purr that echoed through the cathedral's hollow halls as well as in 7's trembling body.

"Looks like I win, little girl," The urge to slap was becoming irresistible and she was about ready to deal a mean one across his smug face. She hoped it would leave a mark. That would be laughable. Out of the blue though, an idea struck her. When one was dealing with a cretin who believed he was some kind of Casanova, perhaps one should use the same tactics. Inhaling to gain some gumption, she slid her hands up 1's chest much to the elder stitch punk's immense amazement.

 _I cannot believe I'm actually doing this…but if it means winning…_

"Well, I must say, 1, that was quite the spectacular performance," Her delicate touch danced across his torso and arms, lightly feeling them. "I never knew you had such strength, such vitality in you." A part of her, the independent, take-charge woman in her was gagging at this simpering act of hers but at the same time, it sent a thrill to her. 7 was not one to ever use her femininity to get what she want. For one thing, she did not see the point. The men here were either oblivious or simply not interested. Then again, she had never attempted any of this with 1. Judging by how he was slowly melting under her caresses, 7 felt a wave of triumph seeping through her. This new technique of hers was genuinely fun. There was just something about bringing a man's defenses down with just the barest of efforts that was extremely empowering.

1 made a low, agreeable sound deep in his voice box and proceeded to lower his face. 7 batted her eyelashes, running her hands down his arms, her small fingers now stroking his metal digits.

 _Yes, that's right, 1. Fall into the trap…_

The moment his optics closed and his lips pursed, with all the agility that had never failed her, her arm seized his flowing cape and succeeding in both disorienting him and obscuring his vision. That definitely ruined the romantic atmosphere. His staff slipped through his scrambling fingers and she happily took it, directing it at him with a satisfied "Ha!"

1 was busily struggling his way out of the blanket of red 7 had momentarily disarmed him with and having done so, immediately fished up her forgotten spear and once again, assuming the same stance she had.

"Copycat." She growled.

"Petulant child." He hissed.

"Fossil."

"Naïve fool."

"Tyrant."

"Tease." Both were blissfully unaware with how they were drawing nearer to each other with each insult. What transpired even more unnoticed was how the verbal spar developed into saucy banter.

"Minx."

"Dirty old man."

"Tease."

"Lecher."

"Trollop."

"I hate you…" They were back in their original positions with both their weapons, now in each other's hands, pressed against one another. Only now, their faces were leering over the forced collision, their optics fogged up by a smoldering heat that was unexplainable. 7 unconsciously bit her lip. 1 rubbed his together before letting his gravelly voice drop so low; it reverberated throughout her frame from her head to her toe.

"I _want_ you."

Just like that, the weapons were casted away and hungry hands grasped at what they so badly sought after. Rough cloth lips attacked one another with a passion. It was a flurry of sensations, longing caresses and a simmering tension that finally boiled over. In the dead of the night, in a cathedral of all places, two stitch punks were finally giving into fatal attraction expertly written off as pure unadulterated hatred.

 _As I've realized, there is nothing more empowering than bringing a man down by doing the bare minimum._

 _She's so soft yet so strong. Dear Creator, I want her so badly._

"See, guys! I told you I would find the source of all that racket!" Well, that certainly was the exclamation that caused the record player of their romantic entanglement to stop abruptly, scratching on the disk. The two tore apart quickly and turned to face four faces, each ranging from immense amusement to utter confusion to unrepentant pain.

6 looked utterly pleased at his glorious discovery, pointing to them with his pen nib finger and nodding at everyone. 2 was stifling laughter and failing miserably.

"Well, this is smashing!" He coughed to cover up his guffaws. "Absolutely smashing! Right, 5?"

If 5's jaw could drop any lower, it would break through the concrete. 8 stood closely behind him, scratching his head at the absurdity of the whole situation.

 _Well, time to leave!_

Both the stitch punks once caught in a passionate embrace sprang to their feet. 7 wiped the dust off of her and hurriedly fixed her headpiece on before anyone could comment on her flushed face. 1 was arranging his hat neatly back on his head. The unmistakable air of awkwardness still hung suspended in the air. Clearing her throat, the female spoke first.

"Well, so nice to meet you all and sorry for keeping you awake. I'll be on my way now," She picked up her spear and dashed for the nearest exit, refusing to meet 1's eyes at all. The male on the other hand was staring at her with an almost forlorn longing until he realized his brethren were still watching him most curiously. Putting on his most withering scowl, he turned on them

"Off to bed with all of you. Nothing else to see here!" With a proud swish of his cape, he took up his scepter and headed to the elevator to take him up to his bedroom…where he would have the most fantastic dreams of a feisty, cream-colored heroine who insisted on adding so much trouble and spice to his ragdoll life.

The foursome was still standing after witnessing such a supposedly impossible sight. 8 finally broke the increasingly awkward silence.

"I am never using the magnet before bed…ever again."

A/N: And there you have it. It turned out longer than I expected but oh well. I hope this is a good story. I have never wrote 1 and 7 before so please be kind. Thank you!


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